that man!"

"Where did she get her obstinacy?" Mrs. Dale sighed. "I suppose it was
from her father's side. And the whole affair is so ill-bred; one would
know Helen was not all a Howe. I always felt there was something lacking
in Charles Jeffrey, though poor dear Mary was so infatuated. Yes, I
remember, when that sister of his came here to visit us, I did not feel
sure, not at all sure, that the Jeffreys were really well-born people.
She used to sit up straight and uncomfortable in a carriage. I never saw
her lean back, and I always said that that girl's grandmother wasn't used
to riding in carriages! So you see, that's where Helen gets her--her bad
taste."

"Well, don't talk about it," said Dr. Howe, walking restlessly back and
forth.

Mrs. Dale took off her glasses, and rubbed them on the corner of her
black silk apron. "It would never have happened," she said positively,
"if they had had children. I declare, I"--and she stopped, as though
about to suggest that Helen should adopt a child at once. Mrs. Dale
usually blamed John and Helen with equal impartiality, but to-day the
fault seemed to belong entirely to her niece. She was very much puzzled
to know how she was to "make excuses" without telling an untruth. "I'll
just speak to Giff about it," she thought; "it all depends on the way
Deborah Woodhouse hears it, and Giff is really quite sensible, and can
advise me what to tell her."

She saw him that afternoon, but, as she said afterwards in reluctant
confidence to her husband, "Giff hasn't much sense, after all. He thought
it was best to just tell the truth about it."

"Yes?" responded Mr. Dale. "Well, I have often noticed, I am only apt to
admire the good sense of people who agree with me. Gifford doubtless has
not the advantage of feeling sure that his wishes constitute the
standards of right and wrong."

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Dale; "I am sure I don't know what you are talking
about."

"Well, what are you going to do?" asked her husband.

"Oh," Mrs. Dale answered, "Gifford will tell Deborah Woodhouse the
truth (Helen wants him to), but he will do it as carefully and as mildly
as possible. And he will make her promise to keep it to herself. But
you know Deborah Woodhouse; she trickles--there is no other word for
it--everything. She couldn't keep a secret to save her life. But Helen
will have it so. Oh, dear, dear, dear! Heaven save us from willful
women!"

Gifford broke the news to his aunts as wisely as